Tales of a Drunkard
by NinjaNovelist
Summary: A short backstory for Haymitch Abernathy. Rated T for mild language, character death, and of course, alcohol.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: If I was as drunk as Haymitch, then MAYBE I would be dumb enough to say I owned the Hunger Games. But I am quite sober at the moment, thank you very much.**

Horror rooted Haymitch's feet to the spot as he looked upon the mangled body of Maysilee Donner, her breaths getting more shallow with each intake of air. A steady stream of blood was gushing from her neck, courtesy of the killer birds, and it was clear that she had only minutes, if that, left to live.

Once the initial shock of the scene before him wore off, Haymitch's legs began to function again. He numbly approached the girl as if on auto-pilot, his knees giving way the moment he reached her side.

Maysilee smiled faintly as she turned her head towards his. "I knew you'd come back." She was so weak, the sound was barely more than a whisper.

Haymitch thought of telling her not to talk in order to save her energy. But she knew as well as he did that she wasn't going to make it, and the sooner she was free from this wretched place, the better.

So he slipped his large hand around her slender one, prepared to stay with her until the end. They remained silent in this way for several minutes, but when her breath became reduced to short bursts of air he chose to speak.

"I'll live through this for the both of us," he said. "I'll make them pay, Maysilee. I promise."

To the millions of spectators watching from their television sets, the statement indicated that he was plotting revenge on the remaining tributes. But they weren't whom Haymitch was referring to.

Maysilee's gaze found his face, and she simply smiled. Then her eyes slowly shut, her body never looking more at peace since the reaping.

Haymitch didn't move until the cannon fired.

After taking the hand he was holding and placing it gently over its partner on her stomach, he rose and turned to leave. He didn't look back once while he walked away; not when he heard the hovercraft approaching, not when he heard the tube descending down, not when it rose once again and carried away the closest thing he had to a friend in this damn arena. He just stared straight ahead, his face even more hardened than before, his eyes cold and without mercy.

Never before had he possessed such a strong desire to win the Games. Not only for Maysilee, but also those he left behind in District Twelve: his mother, younger brother Lionel... and Tanya.

His mind chose to focus on the final of these. Tanya, with the long black hair and a smile so gorgeous it was a shame it hardly ever presented itself. Tanya, who despite bearing an exterior stiffened from hardship, occasionally revealed a softer side that Haymitch had grown to love. Tanya, his girlfriend who ever since he said good-bye to her before leaving for almost certain death he couldn't bring himself to think about until now, though he wasn't sure why that was.

A picture of Maysilee suddenly sprang to mind, pushing Tanya to the side. The memory was from one of the few patches of light from these last few weeks, when she laughed at a cutting remark he made of their ridiculous mining outfits for the Opening Ceremonies. But Haymitch was prompt to shove thoughts of either girl from his head.

By the time he reached the outskirts of the arena, the place where he had discovered a very curious thing concerning a force field, all that was on his mind was the other three tributes, planning on how they were going to die. It was useless to dwell on who he had already lost when he needed to focus on getting back to those who might still lose him.

**What's this? A T-rated fic from me? Shocking. This will either be three or four chapters, and I'll try to get them out relatively quickly. Hope you like it so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

While Haymitch had been trapped in the arena, his mind was so set on preserving his life that he never thought of how it would be affected if he somehow achieved his objective. He never imagined that being a victor would alter every aspect of what he'd been accustomed to all these years.

The moment he stepped foot on District Twelve again, poverty became nothing but a distant memory. He and his family were moved from their shack of a home in the Seam to a spacious, beautiful house in the Victor's Village. Never again would they be short of either food or money, and Haymitch wasn't even required to go to school anymore. This suited him perfectly well, as he had never been one to make friends.

One of the only things that hadn't changed a bit was his family. His mother, strong and resilient, continued to cook and clean and care for the boys, although she could have certainly hired a maid so she would never have to lift a finger for the rest of her days. And Lionel remained as cheerful and energetic as ever, Haymitch's polar opposite. He also retained the wide-eyed innocence of the ten-year-old boy that he was, despite being forced to see his beloved brother barely evade death on multiple occasions.

That was why during a trip to the bakery one day (even the fact that they could now afford the delicious pastries still felt unreal), Haymitch watched as Lionel raced ahead of him, a huge grin on his face as he glanced back at his brother, with a mixture of amazement, affection, and a touch of envy. Ever since their father was hanged seven years ago simply for going door to door selling fish, Haymitch's days of playing games were far past.

Except for the Games he had played a few weeks before, but he was trying to put those behind him as well.

Lionel waited until Haymitch was within earshot to say, "Do you think we could get a few cinnamon rolls, Haymitch? Those are Mom's favorite."

By this time, Haymitch had finally caught up with him. "Sure thing, Nellie."

The young boy scowled at the nickname. "I told you to stop calling me that!"

"Well it's not_ my _fault Mom wanted a girl," Haymitch defended. He patted his brothers head, making the curls identical to his own shake slightly. "She just had to settle for you."

Lionel most likely made some kind of retort, but Haymitch was no longer paying attention to their banter. They had reached a fork in the road, and his eye caught onto a girl traveling away from them on one of the paths. Despite the notable distance between them, he could clearly make out the hip-length dark hair cascading down her back.

Haymitch blindly reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. "Here, Lionel. Go on ahead, and I'll catch up in a minute."

The boy wasted no time snatching the coins from his hand. "Alright, but if I were you I'd be quick. Don't expect me to save you any cinnamon rolls."

After Lionel took off on the left road, Haymitch quickly began his route on the right.

"Tanya!" he called out.

The girl didn't turn around. In fact, Haymitch could have sworn she actually quickened her pace.

She's been acting this way ever since his return. She had given him a warm smile and a quick kiss at the train station, after that she began avoiding him for reasons Haymitch couldn't understand for the life of him. She was usually reserved and unwilling to show that she was upset, but with Haymitch there were no secrets, which served to make him all the more puzzled.

Although Tanya had a head start of several hundred feet, her beau soon reached her. Being a victor has its occasional perk.

"Tanya, what is it?" Haymitch asked. He tried reaching for her hand, but she maneuvered away from him. She tried to walk again, but Haymitch got in front of her and placed a hand on either shoulder, forcing her to come to a halt.

"I can't know what's wrong unless you talk to me, sweetheart," he pleaded.

Tanya's eyes, previously looking at anything but him, at last meet Haymitch's.

"I think you've made it clear who your sweetheart really is," she said, her expression stony.

Haymitch's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Bet you thought I wouldn't notice," Tanya continued. "The small smiles, the sneaking glances, the way you held her hand..."

"Whose hand?" Haymitch cried in exasperation. "Tanya I've had enough with playing games."

Tanya studied him closely. Then she released a short laugh, displaying a tone that Haymitch didn't like the sound of. "You haven't even realized yet, have you?"

"What?" Haymitch asked the question warily, feeling eerily as though he were approaching a tribute ready for battle.

Tanya looked him straight in the eye and said simply, "You love Maysilee."

The phrase, stated as though it were a commonly known fact, was like an unexpected blow to the chest.

Haymitch stumbles with his words, attempting to parry the attack. "What the... love... why would you possibly... Maysilee... I knew her for barely a month!"

Tanya's words are much smoother, like the swipes of a sword. "Well it seems that was long enough."

Another hit to Haymitch.

Desperate to find a counter attack, Haymitch says, "How could you accuse the girl who saved my life of trying to steal me from you?"

"Don't pretend I'm not grateful!" she shouts, deflecting Haymitch's strike with ease. "But that's beside the point and you know it."

He can feel himself being closed in, but he tries one last ditch attempt to gain the upper hand.

"Maysilee's dead!" he screams, voice and temper rising to a dangerous level. "Even if I did have feelings for her, it wouldn't have made any difference. At least one of us was doomed as soon as we were reaped into those Games sent from Hell itself."

Tanya leans in so that she's only inches from Haymitch's face. The following words are no longer loud and angry, but deadly quiet that was even more terrifying.

"But the question is, what would you have done if she had survived?"

Haymitch's weapon flies from his hand. Now defenseless, he awaits the final blow, but it never comes. Tanya leaves without another word, but just before she turns away, Haymitch catches a glimpse of tears.

That sight alone was enough to kill him. In all the time that he had known her, he never saw her cry. Not once.

All thoughts of bakeries gone from his mind, Haymitch veers around and starts back home, his back to the retreating Tanya. Neither have lost, yet neither have won.


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, this is the last chapter. Hope you like it!**

The following day, Haymitch hesitantly took the road that led to Tanya's house. He had no idea what he was going to say, nor how he was going to say it, but he needed to find some way to apologize to her.

Haymitch wasn't used to apologies. He was sarcastic, stubborn, and hardly ever wrong, but his mother had convinced him otherwise...

_The door shut behind him with a crack as Haymitch stormed into the house._

"_I take it the bakery was out of your favorite cream puffs?" his mother asked, calmly stirring the stew on the stove. Although a great deal kinder than Haymitch, they shared the same sense of humor._

"_I didn't go," Haymitch growled. "Nellie's there to finish your damn shopping list."_

_Mrs. Abernathy stopped her cooking and sat down beside Haymitch, who was slumped at the kitchen table. "What happened, dear?"_

"_I don't wanna talk about it." he said sullenly._

_His mother shrugged. "Well, that's fine with me."_

_The two sat in dead silence for a time. The anger that had been accumulating ever since his argument with Tanya grew higher and higher, consuming everything within him. When he finally couldn't stand it anymore, Haymitch told his mother everything, just as she knew he eventually would._

_After he had finished, she said nothing at first. Then exhaling slowly, Mrs. Abernathy turned to face her son._

"_I'm not going to tell you who's right," she began softly. "That's only for you to decide. But there's something you should know. During the Games, after Maysilee died with you __holding_ _her hand, rumors began to spread throughout the whole district."_

"_Like what?" Haymitch asked._

"_That you and Maysilee were interested in each other from the __start,__" his mother explained. "And before you entered the arena, you two went off together and... I don't think it's necessary for me to say it."_

_Haymitch couldn't agree more._

"_Tanya was strong through it all, as she always is," Mrs. Abernathy continued. "But to constantly have those lies buzzing around you, people pointing you out behind your back, it's impossible not to be affected by it."_

_All of Haymitch's past anger instantly washed away. Those accusations Tanya had spouted out at him, weren't even her own. She had simply been confused, and the crowds had turned that into resentment._

_He rested his face in his hands. "What do I do?"_

"_Whatever your true feelings are," his mother advised. "You need to talk it out with Tanya."_

_Haymitch lifted his head again to look at her, knowing that she was right. It certainly wasn't going to be easy, but for Tanya's sake he had to try._

When Haymitch had reached the doorstep, it took all the willpower he possessed to to raise his hand and ring the bell.

The door swung open to reveal Tanya's mother behind it. "Hello Haymitch," she greeted kindly. "Would you like to see Tanya?"

Haymitch nodded his assent, and he was admitted into the house.

"She's in her room," the woman said. "She's been in bed a while now- said she wasn't feeling well- but I'm sure she'll want to see you."

"Thank you," Haymitch replied awkwardly. Then he turned and moved down the hall, stopping in front of the last door.

He had never been fond of the idea of an apology, but now that he was on the verge of making it he had never been more reluctant to do so. But then he pictured Tanya, betrayed and hurt, crying in her room with no one there for her.

Haymitch lifted his fist to the door and knocked. "Tanya?"

No one answered.

"Please let me in," he pleaded. "We need to talk."

Nothing.

Fed up with the cold shoulder treatment, Haymitch put all manners behind him and opened the door.

There was Tanya, asleep in her bed. But something was off about her. She was lying unnaturally still, not even the steady rise and fall of her chest could be seen. Haymitch had seen this enough times during the Games to immediately know why.

Tanya was dead.

In a horrifyingly similar way to what he did with Maysilee, Haymitch walked up to the dead girl and went to his knees. The moment he did he was overcome by a scent that would've been rather pleasant if taken in a smaller dose, but was so suffocating it made him nauseous. Tanya's usual smell was of the raspberries she sold on the street corner for extra money, but this new scent was familiar as well. He had gotten a whiff of it only once before, emitting from the man who had crowned him victor of the Hunger Games.

Roses.

Tanya's mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong, Haymitch?" It wasn't until then that he realized he had just screamed.

The woman's eyes fell upon her daughter. "Tanya?" she cried, racing to her bedside. After frantically searching every inch of her body for a pulse, it became clear that she had reached the same conclusion as Haymitch.

Dazed from shock, she sank to the floor so she she was sitting beside Haymitch. "How could that... she was fine just last night, only a little pale... Tanya."

She crumbled into a ball and sobbed as reality settled in. Haymitch couldn't bear telling her that she hadn't been sick, that she was brutally murdered on account of him. So he placed a hand on her back to comfort her, for he knew what it was like to lose one of the family as well.

Family. Mom. Lionel.

Mumbling a few words of condolence, Haymitch leaped up and bolted out of the house, sprinting towards his own.

Of course Snow would have targeted him. Not only did he humiliate the Gamemakers by using their force field to his advantage, but he blatantly vowed to take revenge on the Capitol. And he wasn't going to be killed; no, that would be too merciful. Instead, Snow was planning to take it out on the few he held dear.

He barely made it halfway home when he came across a wagon completely flipped over. Haymitch's heart dropped to his stomach as he pushed through the small crowd that had gathered.

Confirming his fears he found his mother and brother, each surrounded by a pool of blood.

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. "I'm sorry Haymitch," said Jasper Everdeen, a former classmate of his. "It's too late for them."

Haymitch hardly even acknowledged him. He was focused on the wagon, which Aaron Hawthorne and many others were trying to turn onto its right side. The source of the problem was the front axle, which appeared to have snapped while his family was riding it. But Haymitch saw that the breakage was a perfectly clean cut, not a haphazardly arranged ring of splinters. The wagon had been tampered with.

And there it was again. The scent of roses.

A few people, including the baker's son, began lifting the victims. "My girl and her family run the apothecary shop in town, and they prepare bodies for burial too. We can take them there," he said. Haymitch couldn't quite place the name- Mellark or something. He didn't care anyway.

Jasper's face clouded over at the mention of Mellark's girlfriend, but he agreed to the plan. "Go on and get some rest," he said to Haymitch. "This is a lot to take in."

Haymitch was quick to leave the spot where his family had met their end. He wandered aimlessly around all of District Twelve, as if he could physically escape the pain of losing the three people left who were closest to him in one day, but it followed him wherever he went.

"Get your white liquor here! Half off special!" called out Ripper, waving a bottle in the air with her only arm.

Haymitch became aware that he had stumbled into the Hob, the center of the district's black market.

Maybe it was out of pity, or a lack of comprehension to what he was doing, but Haymitch found himself paying for a bottle.

Haymitch absently watched the clear liquid swish around in its container. For years he had witnessed past victors make fools of themselves on account of alcohol. Back then he had shook his head at them, but now he understood.

Here was his release from all the terrible things the Hunger Games had put upon him. Resting in his hand was a way to forget it all ever happened.

Without a moment's hesitation, Haymitch uncorked the liquor and took a swig.

**~0~0~0~0~0~**

Haymitch returned the finished bottle to the table with a definitive thud. Then he leaned forward, chin in hand, watching the events of the 74th Annual Hunger Games unfold.

He had promised the kids he was mentoring that he wouldn't drink so much that he would be incapable of helping them. But that didn't mean he wouldn't drink at all.

At the moment, his two tributes were safely tucked away in a cave. Peeta was asleep, arm protectively draped around his partner, but Katniss was wide awake with all her life problems pressing down on her.

There were only five contestants remaining, and the more time that passed, the closer they would get to determining the winner. But Haymitch would bet his bottle that the thing troubling her most was how to keep up the star-crossed lovers act with Peeta.

Haymitch's eyes flitted over to a different television set, where the Final Eight interviews were being played. On the screen was the handsome face of Gale Hawthorne, Katniss' "cousin". He had seen the two hunters together plenty of times before, selling their game at the Hob. It had been common knowledge that they would've ended up married one day.

But that was before Peeta came into the picture. It was clear that Katniss truly cared for the boy, though to what extent Haymitch wasn't sure. And it was completely obvious that Peeta loved her with all he had.

Katniss, Gale, Peeta. Haymitch, Tanya, Maysilee. Two hostile Seam kids, and one kind-hearted person from Town.

He had served the past twenty-three Games as mentor, and he had watched every last one of his charges die before his eyes. But this time, he had a legitimate chance of bringing back not one, but _both _tributes.

And for what? To lose your freedom, your peace of mind, possibly even your loved ones. More than once Haymitch had thought that the losers get the better end of the deal.

But even worse, if the two District Twelve tributes come home alive, Katniss would eventually be forced to choose. A choice that Haymitch couldn't bring himself to make, even now. A choice in which he had been denied of either option.

He looked at Katniss once again. So like him, so like Tanya.

"You'd better pick fast, sweetheart," he whispered. "Before the Capitol picks for you."


End file.
